


A Pawn for a Princess

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: Forced Moves: Gorim Saelac's Domination of Princess Aeducan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Flogging, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Impact Play, Knifeplay, Light Choking, No Safeword, Punishment, Riding Crops, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, impact play - breasts, impact play - vagina, partner swap without negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Sereda Aeducan has really misbehaved this time, which is why Gorim finds someone else to help punish the wayward Princess for her reckless ways.
Relationships: Female Aeducan/Gorim Saelac, Female Aeducan/Male Brosca (Dragon Age)
Series: Forced Moves: Gorim Saelac's Domination of Princess Aeducan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126205
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	A Pawn for a Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jarakrisafis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/gifts).



> This is for the [Twelve Days of DA Dwarves](https://twelve-days-of-da-dwarves.tumblr.com/) Prompt List! Prompt #10: Cookies for the Casteless!
> 
> This is also a birthday present for our darling Jarak, who deserves all the problematic dwarf smut in the world. <3

“What in the soddin’ stone are these?” 

Her fingers twitch in annoyance and she, yet again, levels a glare at Gorim’s back. He’s fussing with something and has been for the last ten minutes, leaving her on the edge of her chaise torn between watching _him_ and keeping an eye on the brand in her sitting room. 

He’s not bad, she supposes, but it wouldn’t do for her brother’s pet noblehunter to have an unkempt brother. Although what, _exactly_ , Brosca is doing in her rooms is beyond her and Gorim is in no rush to tell her.

She _should_ demand an explanation. Instead she answers Brosca’s questions. “Cookies. Help yourself, I insist.” 

He raises one to his nose and sniffs it and she barely keeps from rolling her eyes when she turns back to Gorim.

To find he’s looking at her, as cold and imperious as she can be when she’s looking down at the assembly, and underneath it the dark current of pure, unadulterated fury. 

Her heart drops into her stomach at the same time a wave of distracting, pulsing heat bursts to life in her core. She doesn’t know if she’s absolutely terrified or unbearably aroused, and she fears it’s probably the same thing for her when it comes to Gorim. 

She opens her mouth, but she can’t quite make a sound, because at that moment she sees he’s got her collar in his big hands. And that makes her freeze, uncertain. 

He can’t. He _won’t_. 

Except he’s furious, and he’s got every right to be. She’s done stupid things before, yes, but taking on one of Orzammar’s best warriors wearing nothing but the silk dress she’s got on now, while Gorim was taking care of something for his father is a new low. Sereda could have waited, but she couldn’t bear retreating and fighting another day, and now…

Well. She won the battle, but she may have lost the war. 

Gorim says one word, and only one word. 

“Kneel.” 

She twists her fabric in the silk covering her legs, mostly to keep them from shaking, and wets her lips with her tongue. From the corner of her eye, she can see Brosca watching her with keen, sharp interest, cookies forgotten. 

Because the real dessert is Sereda herself. That’s why Gorim invited him here. 

Her voice is breathy and trembling and she hates it. 

She also loves the feeling of power leeching away from her. The growing pulse of want in her veins. Still, she has to try and stop it. She’s a Princess, Brosca is _casteless_ , if they were found out…

“Gorim…” she pleads. 

“Ten lashes. On top of the ten you’ve already earned.” Gorim’s eyes are hard as stone, unforgiving. “Are you going to see how much you can take tonight, _Princess_?” 

Twenty lashes. _Already_. He’s going to push her to her limits, maybe even beyond them, and she should leave. She _could_ leave. There are guards outside the door, she could have both of these men in a cell and beheaded in the blink of an eye. 

But she loves him. Stone take her, she loves him, she loves the way he owns her. She would do anything to please him. 

_Anything_.

She slips from the chair to the plush rug and casts her eyes down while she settles on her knees. Even with her gown on, she spreads her legs the way he likes and clasps her hands behind her back to thrust out her tits. 

The only sound is the rustle of silk until Brosca whistles low and soft. “By the Stone. You weren’t fucking joking.” 

“She’ll take her punishment like a good whore,” Gorim states, and Sereda knows it’s an order. She hears him cross the room before she sees his boots stop in front of her. Then his fingers are in her elaborate braids, wrenching her head up to stare at him. He doesn’t say a word as he fastens her collar around her neck, just tight enough she’ll not be able to ignore it every time she draws breath. 

“You belong to Brosca tonight, Princess. I’ve told him he can do whatever he wants to you, as long as he doesn’t do anything we can’t hide from your father.” Gorim smirks cruelly into her face, running a finger along her jaw that makes her shiver. “Can’t have him knowing what a desperate little slut he raised in this palace.” 

Sereda swallows the lump of shame in her throat, but she can’t help the desperate shift of her hips that betray her growing need. 

It’s as natural as the words that fall from her lips. “Yes, Gorim.” 

He laughs at her, pinching her chin between his fingers and forcing her to stare up at him. Forcing her to take in the inferno in his eyes. “Have fun, Sereda.” 

He releases her in one smooth movement, turning and walking back to his favorite chair. He drops into it, hands dropping to undo his breeches, and her heart beats faster. 

Then a shadow falls across her and she shivers again, in fear. 

There’s a sharp edge of desire in Brosca’s face, the same desire she sees in almost every man who looks at her. But there’s something dark and resentful in his eyes. 

“Always wanted a sodding bitch like you on her knees.” His tone is as bitter as she expects, and it sends another nervous flutter of fear through her. Her eyes flick, helplessly, to Gorim’s form in the chair. 

She doesn’t see the hand coming, not until the slap is echoing in the room. Her eyes water, her cheek throbs, and she almost unclasps her hands to touch the stinging flesh of her jaw before she remembers herself. She blinks quickly, dragging her eyes back to Brosca.

“He can’t save you, Princess,” Brosca taunts, digging his own fingers into her braids and tugging at her hair until her lips pop open on a gasp. “He’s given you away like a duster slut. Didn’t even charge me for the privilege, actually. Carta would have.” 

She wants to hiss and fight. To demand he pay for the _audacity_ of speaking to her like that, especially when he’s got a brand stark on his face, but his words make her cunt pulse traitorously. Then he drags her face forward, until her nose rubs against the hard bulge in his trousers, and the only sounds she makes is a tiny whimper of desire. 

“You’re gonna suck my cock, and you’re gonna do a damn fine job or you’re going to get ten more lashes. Get to work.” 

She unclasps her hands to undo his pants, only to have him wrench her head back before she can raise her arms. The second slap is just as shocking as the first, and it forces a sharp cry from her lips. 

From his chair, she hears Gorim’s dark laughter, but she doesn’t dare look away from Brosca. Her cheek throbs, and she hates to admit it but she’s trembling on her knees in front of a _duster_.

“Use your mouth, slut. And mind your damn teeth or you’ll pay for it.” 

She hesitates for a moment in stunned disbelief. 

“Five more, Sereda,” Gorim calls from the chair. 

That spurs her into action. She looks up at Brosca’s dark eyes, inching close to the laces in her breeches. It’s difficult to capture the laces in her teeth, but once she’s got them it’s easy to tug them loose. It’s slow going, but there’s spiteful glee in his face as he watches her struggle. Finally all she can do is nose his breeches open until she finds his hard cock. 

Once her breath ghosts over it, Brosca swears and wrenches her away just long enough to withdraw it full from his pants. He holds it in his hand, easily as thick and long as Gorim’s, which means taking it in her mouth will be a chore. 

But if it was easy, it wouldn’t be a punishment. 

Her mouth opens, just the way she was taught, and Brosca laughs. It sounds _almost_ pleased. 

“Whore,” he murmurs, pulling her mouth to his cock. “Get it nice and wet for your royal cunt.” 

She doesn’t need to, she’s aching and wet already, and she knows Brosca will have lots to say about that when he finds out. 

_If_ she survives him fucking her mouth.

He slides to the hilt, stretching her lips around him, pushing into her throat until tears pop into her eyes. He holds her there while she struggles to breathe through her nose, until her jaw aches, before slowly sliding out. 

Then he thrusts in, battering the back of her throat, and shows her no mercy. He fucks her exactly as she imagines he fucks the lowest whores in Dust Town, perhaps even _more_ brutally. He has no care for the tiny sounds of distress she makes, the way her nails dig into her own palms, the way she gasps around his cock. 

She tries to bring him pleasure. If he cums down her throat, after all, this could be over sooner than later. But she’s not sure she’s having the slightest effect on him, he seems hardly out of breath. In fact, the joy in his face is both vicious and alarming. 

Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he withdraws his hard cock from her mouth and pulls her away. 

“Not bad,” he remarks, “but I’ve had better.” 

Gorim tsks from behind him. “She’s spoiled. And lazy.” 

“Five more lashes for the piss poor job, then.” Brosca sounds absolutely delighted by the prospect, but Sereda’s heart nearly stops.

 _Thirty_. Thirty lashes across her ass. She’ll never make it, especially not with Brosca delivering the blows. Her fear must show on her face, because Brosca’s grin simply widens. 

“Get up then, let’s get started on your punishment.” 

It’s hard to stand, her legs barely support her when she finds them. Brosca wastes no time slipping fingers beneath her collar, restricting her air, and dragging her not towards the bed but towards the bench Gorim insisted she purchase. 

That’s when she realizes that Gorim has planned this, perhaps for a while, because Brosca knows exactly what to do. This is no spur of the moment idea, although perhaps Gorim has been waiting for his opportunity. Brosca is too familiar with their bench, knows exactly where it is. Knows how to bend her over it, fasten her hands to the cuffs cleverly hidden within and easily withdrawn. 

Before she can even object, before she can voice her suspicions, she’s helpless. 

Just the way Gorim likes her. 

The silk gown is rucked up roughly past her hips, revealing her ass to the casteless man Gorim has asked to ruin her, and Sereda can’t stop it. All she can do is try not to flinch away when his fingers dig into the dainty surfacer lace underthings she spent good money on. 

They’re flimsy, and expensive, and the sound of them ripping is enough to draw a broken moan from her lips. Then two large hands cover her ass and she presses back into them in spite of herself, just like the slut they’ve called her. 

His hands withdraw, then one large palm brings itself down, the crack of flesh on flesh too loud, the bright burn of it enough to make her whimper. She almost misses the sound of his own clothing rustling, her heart thudding unevenly. 

She’s an Aeducan princess, tied to a bench with her ass in the air, at the mercy of a duster while her Second _watches_. And all she wants is for his hands back on her skin, for him to dip lower and touch her aching cunt. 

“How do you want your lashes, bitch?” Brosca asks, wandering away to the chest where Gorim keeps all their toys. “There’s so many fucking toys here. Hard for a man to pick.” 

She’s too well trained to offer her real opinion. “Anyway you want, Sir.” 

Gorim laughs again. Then offers his own advice. “Use more than one, if you want. That flogger makes her scream the prettiest.” 

She can’t breathe for a moment. She hopes it’s not the one she thinks it is, but she knows. She _knows_. The brush of braided leather on her ass, the plaited tails of the devastating flogger, is just confirmation. 

She can’t. She _can’t_ take thirty lashes of that. She twists her head quickly, looking for Gorim in the room. “Please, _please_ , I’m sorry. I swear I won’t do it again, Gorim, please don’t let him-” 

She’s not prepared for the first strike. It lashes against her skin like fire, draws a scream from her lips that she can’t contain. Brosca follows it with two more, quick as a greased nug, and each one completely brutal enough to steal the air from her lungs. 

“Ten more, bitch, for complaining about getting your due.” 

She can do nothing but grit her teeth and try not to wail. She squeezes her eyes shut, but by the time two more blows land she’s clawing at the bench. She can feel her ass reddening, bruising, and yet he doesn’t stop. Each stroke is as vicious as the first, and by the time he reaches ten she’s crying out with each crack of the flogger on her flesh. By twenty, her voice is hoarse, her skin burning, tears falling down her face. 

She flinches from his hand on her flesh, but all he does is knead her abused flesh until she keens brokenly. Then he grinds his hips slow against her, and she can feel his throbbing cock against her, leaking from watching her take this punishment. 

“Twenty more, _Princess_.” He’s grinning, she knows it even if she can’t see it. “I don’t know if your ass can take it.” 

It can’t. There’s no way. He’s going to rip her flesh to ribbons. 

“I do hate to see a Princess cry,” he lies, grabbing her ass and squeezing until she whimpers. “And I’d hate to ruin this perfect ass. Maybe I should give the last twenty elsewhere. What do you think?” 

It’s a trap, but her ass is on fire. “ _Please_ ,” she whispers. “Please, flog my back. My thighs. _Please_.” 

He laughs again, and it’s laced with danger. “Oh no, bitch. I’m going to whip your tits, and then I want to take the crop to that dripping little cunt of yours. Or I can put the last twenty on your ass with a cane. Your choice.” 

Just then, as if to back up his threat, she feels the cool wood of the cane gently stroking her ass. She freezes again, mind blank in panic. The flogger is bad. The cane will be _worse_. Her ass is already bruised, swollen, and if he takes the cane to her…

He taps it against her ass, a light warning that still makes her suck breath through her teeth. “Well if you can’t make up your damn mind…”

“ _No_.” Panic makes her decision for her, she shoots an imploring gaze over her shoulder into his cold eyes. “Please flog my tits.”

His smirk is cruel, and she’s not shocked as he lowers the cane to press it against her dripping pussy, sliding it back and forth through her folds until she’s breathless for a whole other reason, hips twitching for more. “And this cunt? You want me to take the crop to this cunt, slut?” 

She whimpers, but the words are out before she can stop them while she tries to rock back, desperate for relief. “Yes, yes _please_.” 

The cane falls to the ground with a clatter and she nearly wails in frustration. Brosca leans over her back, taking great care to grind harshly up against her throbbing ass until she chokes on a sob while he frees her. 

Only to flip her easily and cuff both wrists to the bench again before diving to secure her ankles to the legs. She’s splayed wide, protected only by the silk of her gown, staring up into his face. 

And he’s brandishing a knife. She doesn’t know where it’s come from, nor can she even process its existence before it’s at her throat, just above her collar. She dares not swallow or breathe, waiting while Brosca looks down at her with a sneer. 

Then the blade moves, slicing through the straps of her gown like water before slicing clean down the middle. When he gets close to the hem, he simply rips it away, leaving her in nothing but a bodice which he gleefully cuts off before it falls open, revealing her sensitive tits to the cool air. 

He pauses to run a hand almost reverently over her breasts, nipples already hard beneath his calloused palms. Then his fingers find them and pinch mercilessly. She bites her lip to stifle the sob as he tugs and twists, before releasing them with a smack that almost seems affectionate. 

Almost. 

Then he picks the flogger back up and Sereda closes her eyes. In the darkness, she waits for him to start. Seconds pass, she swears it stretches into minutes, and she knows this is the part he’s enjoying. 

Her fear. An Aeducan helpless at his mercy. 

Then the braided leather cuts into her tits and she barely can breathe past the bright pain. Gorim has done this before, but not with _this_ flogger and _never_ with this much force. It takes hardly anytime before she’s screaming again, each strike blending pleasure and pain into a sensation too intense to handle. All she can do is scream, then sob, writhing and breathless beneath him. 

She hardly realizes he’s stopped. She’s trying to breathe, trying to see through the tears in her eyes. The room is quiet except for her sobs, her breasts are covered in bright red marks. 

And then she feels the strands of leather against her cunt and she shivers. 

“Such a wet little cunt. Somebody is enjoying their punishment too much.” 

The flogger vanishes. Through the tears, she sees Brosca pick up the riding crop, a small version meant for the young brontos that are learning to haul lyrium from the mines.

“Ten on this cunt,” Brosca taunts. “Hold on, _Princess_.” 

She has little choice. The crop lands on the delicate skin between her legs and she barely manages not to shriek. The second makes her moan. Her hips twitch, thighs clench, and underneath it all she’s wet, aching, _begging_ to be filled. Everything has started to combine, her swelling tits, red ass, and each tiny, well placed blow on her cunt. She’s not got enough voice to scream, and even if she did all she can do is moan and roll her hips. 

She doesn’t know if she wants more, less, or just wants to fuck and cum. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all one driving, blinding need. 

The crop slaps against with one final, obscenely wet slapping sound. Brosca doesn’t discard it, however. Instead he pushes the stiff leather tip between her folds, finding her aching clit and teasing it until she feels the bright pulse of pleasure just out of reach. Her eyes fly open, staring at Brosca while he beams down at her. 

When he pulls the crop away from her aching clit, she almost sobs. He brings the crop to her mouth. “Clean yourself off it.” 

She does as she’s told, savoring the sweet tang of her arousal and the rich leather beneath. She keeps her teary eyes open, watching him while he watches her. 

“Do you wanna cum?” he asks. She nods quickly. 

Brosca grins, tossing the crop to the side. “Gorim was right. You’re a needy little whore.” 

And then, before she can protest, he’s between her thighs. Her heart stutters, brain screaming. She _can’t_ let a brand fuck her. Gorim has to stop this. She _has_ to stop this. 

But her body wants him. It rolls up to meet him as much as she can, his cock sliding across her sore, stinging skin and slick folds. Brosca’s breath stutters in his chest, then comes out in a rush. 

In the next moment, his hips rock forward and he’s buried inside her. The thick stretch of him, so sudden, takes her breath away. But before she can adjust he pulls out, only to thrust brutally back inside. She cries out, and to her shock he leans over her and presses a filthy kiss to her lips. 

“I’m going to cum in this royal cunt. You’re gonna take every drop.” He punctuates his command with a sharp jerk of his hips that rips a broken sound from her throat. “And you’re gonna enjoy it. You’re gonna cum on my cock, _Princess_.” 

She wants to shake her head. Deny it. But his fingers sink to her aching clit and it takes only a moment for his rough, dextrous fingers to bring her to the brink. But he holds her there while he pummels her body with his. 

“Beg me,” he orders. “Beg me to cum on my cock, beg me to fill you up like a slut.” 

“Please!” She cries, every nerve on fire. “Please, _please_. I need it! I want your cum, I want to cum, please-” 

He silences her with a kiss that’s more brutal than a war, all teeth and tongue, and his fingers resume their quick stroking until she shatters, bucking against her restraints. He fucks her through her orgasm before he releases her lips to sink his teeth into her shoulder, pain blooming just as his hips jerk wildly, just as his spend fills her. 

Sereda collapses back on the bench. Used, abused, and completely satisfied. Brosca collapses on top of her, and the only sound is their panting breaths and racing heart. 

Then a slow, satisfied clap fills the space. “Well done Brosca.” 

Gorim slides into view and she tries to manage a small, hopeful smile for him. 

But his gaze is bright with lust, and the finger against her cheek ignites the thudding desire in her stomach almost immediately. “Now it’s my turn, _Princess_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays from Pornzammar, which can be found at [@cartadwarfwithaheartofgold](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/)


End file.
